


The Book of Thoth

by CaelumLapis



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion & Lore, Smallville
Genre: M/M, Spoilers: General for all prior episodes., Spoilers: Specific for Season Two’s Ryan.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaelumLapis/pseuds/CaelumLapis
Summary: Unsteady steps bring Lex to the table, and he leans down, placing both hands on the book. The world bends around him, blurring at the edges with a sigh of wind.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Book of Thoth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer is, I don’t own them, not even a little. This story depicts an alternate universe (AU) after Season Two's 'Ryan' episode.

This man is not a sight one might expect to see in this sleepy, small-town bookstore. Lex Luthor is distinctive in both appearance and mannerism, standing out from the other patrons who move nervously away from him. He travels the aisles with leisurely self-assurance; as if this is simply a way to fill time, another place to be seen in an effort to dispel the fear of a small town. 

His head turns slowly, his attention enticed for reasons mysterious to a corner shelf. Slender fingers drift up to brush the spine of an archaic book with quiet reverence. He cradles it and opens the leather cover, examining pages yellowed with age, stiff waxy parchment that whispers promises to him. He closes the book gently and strides to the register. A moment’s delay for the exchange of currency and it is his, resting beneath his arm as he leaves the shop. 

He takes it to his castle, and leaves it on a table beside his bed. His time is now occupied by a dark-haired young man that stands in his study, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. They are unlikely allies, and the air between them is thick with what they leave unspoken. They engage each other over the battleground of a pool table; and the afternoon passes in conversation, lingering glances, and soft brushes of arms and shoulders. Clark Kent leaves with the afternoon sun’s warmth in his eyes, and Lex is alone once more, focused on the door with an expression of affection and deep curiosity. 

The book draws him, through halls bathed in afternoon light tinted in shades of color from translucent stained glass. He settles himself on the bed, his shoulders relaxing as he sits with his back to the headboard, propped upright by pillows. He measures the weight of the book in his hands, and satisfied, begins to read. 

The afternoon passes at a leisurely pace, his eyes closing more often now and his breathing deep and even. He slouches subtly, his head lolling to the side and the book resting open on his lap. His palm is flat against the open book, and an involuntary jerk repositions his fingers. The ink on the page glows with a soft green luminance, shifting and forming new again until his hand is curled almost protectively around his own name. 

~~~

Bleached sand stretches around him for miles, endless dunes beneath a brilliant blue sky. The glare of the sun reflects off his scalp, and he shades his eyes, looking over the landscape. His clothing is suited to this climate, a white linen shirt and pants. His feet are bare, toes pressing into the warm grains of sand beneath them. At the horizon is a speck of black, a blotch on the canvas of the desert. He studies it intently for a moment, and his hand lowers. He begins walking, a zephyr dusting him lightly with sand before the wind calms around him.

The air is still then, silent and heavy with anticipation. The sand shifts beneath his feet, and he leaves marks in it of his crossing that fade slowly. The dark shape at the horizon is closer now, taking form as his strides lengthen toward it.

Time passes, and he is close enough now to stop, pausing as his hands slip into his pockets. He tilts his head, his eyes directed downward. The dark shape resolutely ignores him, a small black cat with a wide golden collar about its neck, its hawk-yellow eyes lined in gilt paint that extends in a short line beyond the eye itself. It raises a front paw, calmly fanning the pads and divesting them of sand. 

Lex waits silently for the cat to finish. At length the paw is lowered, and the cat sits upright, regal in posture as it fixes him with a dignified, vaguely disapproving gaze. 

“You are Alexander of Luthor,” the cat notes, as if its task is to serve only in the recitation of fact. The mellow, sotto voice comes from the cat, and yet does not, a strange sort of dislocation in which the sound carries around them. Lex nods his head once, and then drops gracefully to one knee. The cat regards him with an air of displeasure generally reserved for those with exceptionally poor etiquette. 

Lex’s voice carries from his drying lips in a rough tenor; his vibrant blue eyes studying the cat’s almond-shaped bronze ones. 

“It is written that you would be of assistance to one who desires to find the Book of Thoth. I seek this book and the wisdom of its pages, for without it, life no longer holds any meaning for me.” These words flow as if recited from a script, and bronze eyes thin slightly in acknowledgment. 

“I am Anheru, the one who will guide you on your quest,” the cat responds, balancing smoothly on the shifting sands. 

As Lex stands, the cat turns, padding away easily across the infinite desert. They walk together in silence, over hills and valleys of sand. A light breeze accompanies them, kicking up soft gusts at their feet. The passage of time is evident only in the lazy transit of the sun overhead. Sweat begins to glisten on Lex’s skin, pooling at his collarbone and staining his shirt. 

The cat stops, seating itself primly on the sand. Lex halts as well, glancing down to his companion. The cat only waits, bronze eyes cast upward to the sun as if charting its course across the sky before they move to Lex. 

In a moment, the sand buckles and yawns wide open before them, a dark brown chasm forming. Lex’s face is inquisitive, eyes slightly wider than before and lips set firmly. The cat is surprisingly incurious for a member of its species, and examines another paw for troublesome irritants. 

The sands still gradually to reveal a staircase that descends gracefully into the earth. At the foot of the steps is a granite door, blonde and solid, with engraved hieroglyphs in lapis lazuli at its four cardinal points. A thick seal in tarnished metal guards the line of entry, likewise etched. Lex’s eyes shine with his excitement, but he is otherwise unchanged by these events. 

“It is the tomb of Neferkaptah, the son of the great Pharaoh Amenhotep,” the cat confirms, in its omnipresent voice. 

Lex takes the steps down carefully, followed by the cat. He arrives at the entrance, brushing worshipful fingers over it. 

“There is a riddle to it, as is the case with most things,” the cat tells him, its tail swishing slowly back and forth. Lex acknowledges this with a soft breath, his eyes narrowing as they examine the hieroglyphs, and the seal. He murmurs under his breath, a hand resting at his chin as he sweeps a slow gaze over the barrier. 

Carefully, he crouches, pressing the palm of his hand firmly against the blue-gold ornamentation at the lower left corner of the obstruction. It sinks beneath the surface of the stone around it with a low sound akin to disgruntled bones moving again after a lengthy respite. He touches the other three, and each submits to the pressure of his hand. 

After the four cardinal points sink into the door, Lex rises to his feet and presses both hands to the center seal, his thumbs and index fingers touching to form a triangle around the blue scarab in the center. The cool metal warms at his touch, and for a moment the air around him shivers with tension. Then the scarab descends and a crack splits the metal disc into twin half-circles. The doors groan, parting inward. A musty scent washes over them from the tomb, sickly sweet with ancient incense and undercurrents of long forgotten death. 

Lex rests his hands briefly against the opened doors as he steps into the cool darkness of the tomb. He waits, his eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, and then he picks his way cautiously, the cat walking beside him. He improvises a torch, tearing narrow strips of fabric from his shirt and binding them to a length of wood. The cat observes these preparations without judgment or question, save one softly uttered warning.

“Take care and be vigilant, Alexander of Luthor, for the tomb of Neferkaptah, beloved of Amenhotep, is protected by the gods.” 

Lex nods his head once, the light of his torch darkening the hollows of his eyes as it illuminates a narrow tunnel that slopes gradually downward. The flickering firelight casts shadows over painted raised relief ornamentation on the walls, but Lex pushes onward without studying them. The sounds of his footsteps echo faintly through the passageway. 

They halt in a small square chamber between facing sentinel figures of Osiris and Horus. The entryway is barricaded with a solid block of stone, the cartouche of Neferkaptah at its central point. Lex moves to the rough stone, his fingers brushing lightly over it, caressing the cartouche. The cat sits, waiting. 

~~~

The mansion is still, pale morning sunlight creeping over its stained glass windows. Clark returns, walking the quiet halls, his voice calling for Lex. His concern increases, worried green eyes and quickening steps that lead him to the empty study, and then back out into the halls where he finds the staircase up and takes the steps two at a time, his feet thumping loudly against them.

He opens the bedroom door, his eyes moving to the bed and the rumpled form of his friend, slumped in the cushioning pillows. 

“Lex!” His voice is tense with strain and hints of aggravated relief, but the figure on the bed does not respond. He strides quickly to the bed, his hands closing over Lex’s shoulders and shaking him gently. The book in Lex’s lap glows an angry green, and Clark falters, his jaw clenching as he backs away, eyes narrowing in pain. He stumbles to the fireplace, his eyes never leaving Lex as he grabs for a poker. He inches back toward the bed; his shoulders hunched low as he pushes the handle of the poker against the book, knocking it from Lex’s grasp. 

When the book is safely away, he crouches beside the bed, his troubled eyes examining Lex and his nose wrinkling slightly at the sour tang of urine. He murmurs softly, one of his hands brushing gently over Lex’s forehead and down the side of his face, but his soft pleas fall on deaf ears. A moment’s hesitation, and then he rises and gathers Lex in his arms, lifting him from the bed. Lex’s face falls to rest limply against Clark’s chest as he is carried carefully from the room and the discarded book. 

Clark finds a large white bathroom and sets Lex down gently on the counter, holding him upright. He turns on the sink’s faucet, dousing a hand with water and gently splashing droplets of water over Lex’s cheeks. 

“What happened to you?” he murmurs softly, as if he is afraid to wake him. The soft sigh of an exhaled breath is his only answer, and he lifts Lex again. Clark’s face becomes apologetic, tinted pink from embarrassment, and he begins babbling to Lex as he steps toward the tub. 

“I’m sorry, please don’t be angry… you won’t wake up… I don’t know what to do, Lex,” Clark sets him on the floor, pillowing his head on Clark’s knees. The sound of rushing water fills the room. 

“I called and you didn’t answer… it has been two days,” Clark’s voice is tight with nervous energy, a soft pleading whisper. “I… please forgive me… I know you wouldn’t want people to see you like this… I’m so sorry.”

Hesitantly, he unbuttons Lex’s shirt, pulling the sweat-damp fabric away from his body. Darting glances to guide his shaking fingers, he unfastens Lex’s pants and lifts him, pushing them down to bunch at his ankles. Standing carefully, Clark eases Lex down into the tub, holding his head above the water by wrapping an arm around him. 

An uneasy silence descends as Clark carefully washes Lex and then lifts him from the tub, propping him up as he wraps his unresisting body in a towel. He carries him into another bedroom, and lays him down on the bed, tucking him into the blankets. 

“I’ll be right back,” Clark says quietly, slipping from the room and returning to Lex’s bedroom. He moves cautiously, finding clothing and clutching it to his chest, sweeping another glance around the room. His eyes find the book, resting open and face down on the floor beside the bed. 

He inches toward it, taking slow and hesitant steps. As he draws close, the book glows green, reacting to his presence. He winces and grits his teeth, crouching down beside it. The pain of such close proximity is written on his features, on the veins in his arm that writhe and darken when he lifts the book and turns it over. He whimpers, closing the hand against his chest into a fist, his other hand brushing over the pages of the book. His eyes widen, and his face pales suddenly as he reads a passage softly, sweat beading at his hairline. 

“Alexander of Luthor grabbed the Book of Thoth and he,” Clark’s voice struggles with the unfamiliar words, pausing between each syllable. 

“An…heru fled the tomb. Behind them, the ka of Ah…ura cried aloud, but the ka of Nef…reke… ptah swore that Alexander of Luthor would return the book, crawling upon his hands and knees… oh god.”

He stumbles back from the book, horror in his expression. Darting upright, he backs out of the room, dashing into the other bedroom and halting in the doorway, his eyes gazing at the sleeping body of his friend.

“Lex,” he says, his voice small and frightened, “where are you?”

~~~ 

Lex has been standing and staring between Osiris and Horus for a long time. The cat paces the room behind him, its tail twitching in a serpentine glide of irritation. Lex’s eyes brighten in the torchlight, and he chuckles softly. The cat pauses mid-stride, glancing up at him. 

“Of course, it is always the simplest answer,” Lex muses to himself, his eyes glittering in the darkness. 

Lex raises his hands first to the staff held by Horus, and then to the one in the grip of Osiris, pulling them down until their tips touch above the cartouche. A deep rumbling growl shivers through the chamber, and the stone descends into the floor slowly, revealing the passageway. Lex smirks down at the cat, inclining his head gracefully toward the tunnel. With a huffed breath, the cat follows his steps. 

A smaller room awaits them, with a shaft cut through the floor of the chamber. Above it, Anubis and Osiris preside over likenesses of Neferkaptah. Lex crosses the room in two strides and carefully lowers himself into the shaft. The cat follows, leaping to dig its claws into Lex’s shoulder. With a faint grimace, Lex crouches to set the cat on the floor and follows the sharp downward slant of the passageway deeper into the tomb. 

The passage leads them down into a large chamber. A short staircase of three steps ends in a long ramp that drops to the floor. Four square pillars support an arched ceiling painted deep blue with gilt stars. The room between the pillars is recessed, and flanked by low gold benches, their legs ending in clawed feet. Each bench holds skeletal remains, some garbed in the stiff linen kilts of guardsmen with their armaments clasped at their chests, others wearing the longer attire of female attendants. Thick golden collars rest on their chests, and heavy decaying wigs cover the vulnerable bone of their skulls. In the center is a long wooden barge, its center hollowed and filled with ancient rushes. The air of the room is thick and unpleasant, heavy with age and the souls of the dead. Lex makes his way carefully through the center of the anteroom, his steps light and cautious. The cat walks at his heels, shying away from the artifacts and the dead. 

At last they reach the door at the opposite end of the chamber, one of heavy ancient timber with gold hinges. It opens easily at Lex’s touch with a weak moan, and before them the passageway leads onward. Its walls are smooth stone, with faded hieroglyphs and scenes of Neferkaptah demanding passage from the guardians of the gates of the underworld. At the end of the tunnel is another barrier, this one of stone with a golden cartouche. Lex breathes a sigh, the cat seating itself beside him.

His hands close over the cartouche and it cracks beneath their weight, falling to the floor of the passageway with a crash. He braces his shoulder against the stone, grunting with exertion as it moves slowly. He is panting when it has finally given way, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He hefts the torch and slips into the anteroom beyond, the cat trailing after him.

~~~

Clark has dressed Lex carefully, and is sitting beside him on the bed, patiently helping him to drink. The deep blue bottle is tipped carefully at his lips, and then almost immediately lowered. Clark’s fingers massage carefully against his friend’s throat, prompting him to swallow. 

After Lex has taken a few swallows, Clark sets the water aside and stares helplessly at him, smoothing a palm over Lex’s pale forehead. He lifts one of Lex’s hands, cradling it in his own and examining the faint blue network of veins on the underside of his wrist. His green eyes are worried, and he releases Lex’s hand and wraps his arms around him protectively, holding the sleeping man close to him. His voice whispers softly, assurances and secrets. 

He takes a deep breath, carefully arranging Lex in the soft confines of the bed before slipping back to Lex’s bedroom. He strips the linens from the bed, bundling them in his arms and carrying them away in the space of mere seconds. It only takes a few moments for him to cleanse the mattress, and he pauses, staring at the telephone. His eyes close, as if he is coming to a decision, and then he dials a number from memory.

“Hi Mom, it’s Clark,” his voice is soft, determined. He listens a moment, and then closes his eyes again. When he speaks, he sounds as a teen does when confiding in his mother, fearful and with hints of the man he will someday be, the man that he almost is. 

“Something’s happened to Lex, I’m going to stay here with him.” A pause and he presses the phone to his ear, the stillness of the castle surrounding him.

“I know you and Dad worry, but he’s protected me. He helped us get Ryan away from Dr. Garner. He protected us from Nixon, from so many things. This time I’ll protect him. If it were me in trouble, I’d want him to be there.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful. Thanks, Mom.” His face softens into a smile. “I love you too.” He places the phone back on its cradle, returning to the quiet bedroom and his sleeping friend. 

~~~

The anteroom is a simple chamber, containing a massive sarcophagus flanked by two ornamental chairs. The sarcophagus is open, enclosing the mummified remains of Neferkaptah, arms crossed on his chest over a thick roll of papyrus.

The left chair holds a translucent figure of a woman, her face pleasing to the eye and painted in the manner of Egyptian nobles. A white linen robe is wrapped around her, a broad golden collar resting at her chest. Seated in the chair on the right is the ghostly figure of a young boy, his scalp shorn except for a thick black braid bound in gilt threads on the left side of his head. He is garbed in a pleated linen kilt with a gemstone crusted belt. They are motionless except for their eyes, which follow Lex’s progress into the room. 

Lex’s jaw drops, his eyes wide for a moment before he composes himself and bows from the waist respectfully. The cat lowers to a crouch beside him, its tail swishing rapidly from side to side. 

Lex straightens, and his demeanor is aristocratic as he faces the sarcophagus. His voice is even and calm, reciting from memory the words he is to speak. “Osiris keep you in peace, Neferkaptah, and you two who sit beside him in eternity. I am Alexander of Luthor, and I desire the Book of Thoth and the wisdom it contains. I ask that you let me claim it peacefully, but know that I have the power to take it if I choose.”

The wraithlike woman rises from her seat, kohl-lined eyes gazing at Lex. Her voice is much like the cat beside him, ethereal and drifting softly through the space between them. “You are arrogant to pursue the wisdom of the gods, Alexander of Luthor. Do not take the Book of Thoth. It is not for you to read, nor for any mortal. Neferkaptah did not heed the warnings given him, and so his life was filled with sorrow. Misfortune followed him all the days of his life, even claiming the lives of his wife Ahura,” the woman’s diaphanous hand drops to her own chest as this is spoken, “and their son Merab.” 

The ghostly hand gestures to the spirit of the young man in the chair, and he nods softly in agreement. “We are they whose spirits you see before you, never knowing the Blessed Land because of my father’s lust for knowledge. Listen to her tale, and learn well.”

The woman stills before Lex, her arms crossed at her chest as she speaks. 

“Neferkaptah and I were born of Amenhotep, and according to custom became husband and wife. Merab, our son, was gifted to us by the gods, and we lived happily. Neferkaptah was a man of learning, and desired to know all things. Forever he was reading the ancient texts and walking through the temples and tombs, copying down the sacred writings.

“One day as he was studying, an old priest came to him and told him of the Book of Thoth, of the knowledge of the gods held within. By reading it the priest assured Neferkaptah that he would know the language of the beasts, how to see the wind and hear the sun, and that he would know the secrets he longed to hear; secrets of the gods and of men, and the songs of the stars.

“Neferkaptah’s heart was filled with longing for the Book of Thoth, and he asked the old priest where it was, promising him anything he wished.

“The priest demanded Neferkaptah issue a royal decree for him to be buried as a Pharaoh, and for a hundred bars of silver for his tomb. Neferkaptah did all that the priest asked, and the priest told him of the hiding place of the Book of Thoth. Neferkaptah hastened home and told me all that he had done. I was afraid, for the treasures of the gods are not for mortals to possess. Yet he would not be discouraged from his quest. He beseeched our father for the use of the royal barge. This was granted, and we set sail that evening with our son.

“We sailed up the Nile to Koptos, where we offered obeisance to Isis and Horus, asking for their favor in our search. Neferkaptah was victorious in his quest. He unrolled the scroll and read from it, and instantly he was given the knowledge of the gods, and he then gave it to me and bade me read. I too learned the language of the beasts, how to see the wind and how to hear the sun, the secrets of the gods and the songs of the stars.

“Neferkaptah then wrote down all the spells from the Book of Thoth and took them into his body, drinking the ink so that the spells entered him and he would not forget them.

“After this, misfortune overtook us. A strange power seized Merab and caused him to jump into the river and drown. Neferkaptah used a spell from the Book to raise Merab from the depths, but he could not restore life, for life is given only by Ra. Neferkaptah begged Merab’s spirit to speak of what happened. Merab spoke with great foreboding, saying that Thoth is angered by what has been done, and has gone to Amen-Ra. Amen-Ra has given him leave to deal with you as he chooses, and Thoth is sending you three great sorrows as punishment, the first of which is to take me from you.

“We lamented at his loss and our hearts were broken with grief. Neferkaptah gave the order to sail once more. A power seized me and I stepped off into the river and drowned. No magic could bring me back to life. This was the second great sorrow. 

“Neferkaptah sailed the barge in sorrow to the palace of his father, but when it arrived, he too was dead, holding the Book of Thoth on his chest. This was the third great sorrow. Neferkaptah was buried as a prince, and the spirits of myself and our son come to him to watch over him.

“These sorrows were given to us because we would not heed the warnings. We took the property of the gods and used it as mortals, and mortals have no claim to the things of the gods. Neither do you have claim to the Book of Thoth. So I say unto you, Alexander of Luthor, if you wish to escape the wrath of Thoth, leave the book where it lies for all eternity.”

The specter’s voice silences, waiting. Lex’s face is conflicted as he steps carefully toward the sarcophagus, his hand stretching out slowly to the scroll.

~~~

The afternoon sun sinks slowly beneath the horizon as Lex sleeps, painting the room a dark blue with hints of fiery orange and red. Clark rises from the bed and wanders the still halls of the castle, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides, the castle becoming dark and as silent as a mausoleum. He locates five members of Lex’s household staff, the men and women all staring through him blankly, unresponsive to his voice and his touch. They shuffle aimlessly from room to room as if automatons. Lex’s cars are parked neatly in a row, their ruddy-faced mechanic stepping methodically along their ranks, his posture stiff and mechanical. The worry around Clark’s eyes intensifies, his lip caught between his teeth as he makes his way slowly back to the bedroom.

A low fire burns in its fireplace, and Lex sleeps endlessly, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only movement of his body. Clark sits down at the foot of the bed, bending down to unfasten his boots. He toes them off and crawls up to Lex, resting beside him and watching him sleep. 

“Wake up, Lex,” he whispers, stroking his forehead gently. “Please wake up.”

~~~

Lex takes a deep breath, the rough texture of the papyrus whispering friction into the pads of his fingers when they touch it. His hand closes firmly over the scroll, pulling it free of Neferkaptah’s arms as Lex’s jaw tenses, muscles clenching at the corners. He turns quickly and flees the tomb, his bare feet pounding loudly in the tunnels. Beside him, the cat’s graceful length runs in leaps and bounds. A long wail chases after them, the pained scream of the spirit of Ahura. As the spectral woman howls her agony, the ghost of Neferkaptah rises from its linen binds, swearing a vow in the voice of the dead that Alexander of Luthor will return the book, crawling upon his hands and knees. 

Lex reaches the entrance to the tomb and casts his torch aside without breaking his stride. It hisses down, embers spitting in a rough halo when it strikes the sand. His feet kick up clouds of stinging dust, the scroll pinned beneath his arm as he sprints with all his might into the desert.

~~~

Clark pushes his arm beneath a pillow, settling into the bed beside Lex. He reaches down and lifts Lex’s hand in his own, entwining their fingers after a moment’s hesitation. A soft crackle sounds from the fireplace, Clark’s eyes closing slowly. Their hands drop gently to rest side by side on the bed. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Lex, I promise,” he slurs softly, resting his cheek wearily against the pillow. In a moment, both of them are breathing in tandem.

~~~

The sun is descending low in the western horizon, and Lex gasps for breath as he runs. He has left the cat behind, and is nearing the point of his arrival in these strange lands. The air before him convulses and shimmers in the fading daylight. He lunges toward it, breaking through with a roar of time rending apart that shakes through the desert around him. 

~~~

Lex arches up off the bed suddenly, struggling for breath, his eyes opening wide as his hands claw frantically at the blankets over him. In an empty bedroom nearby, the book glows brilliant green and beside him, Clark vanishes. Lex jerks upright, pushing the blankets away as he sits up, struggling to catch his breath. A roll of thick papyrus tumbles from the bed, rolling beneath it.

~~~

The air shudders again, and Clark emerges, swaying unsteadily on his feet before crashing facedown into the sand. The specter of Neferkaptah materializes above him, iridescent in the desert night, and then both of them fade from view. 

~~~

Lex slows his breathing, seated at the side of the rumpled bed with his head in his hands and his eyes closed tightly. Moments pass, and finally his eyes open. He gazes curiously down, his hands lowering to his sides. Between his feet, concealed partially beneath the bed, is the roll of papyrus. Lex bends, his trembling fingers lifting the bundle and placing it beside him on the bedding. It unfurls at his touch, filled with hieroglyphs and images rendered in gilded paint. He touches the raised ink lightly, his eyes stunned in recognition, yet perplexed because he is unable to read the text beneath his fingers. He rises from the bed, seeming to notice where he is, his eyes falling to the partially drained blue bottle on the bedside table and the scuffed boots beside the bed. His face drains of color. He gathers up the parchment, gripping it firmly in both hands.

“Clark,” he breathes, turning in a circle as he glances rapidly around the room. He walks quickly to the opened door, his voice echoing in the empty halls.

“Clark!”

There is no response, and his steps hasten to his bedroom. He freezes in the doorway, taking in the unclothed bed and the book resting on the floor. Halting steps bring him to the book, and he lowers to his knees, the roll of papyrus dropping to the floor as he opens the book. The text is changing even as he reads it, turning pages swiftly while his face twists into an expression of agony. His hand brings the pages to a standstill, fingertips caressing gently over a familiar name.

“Clark,” he whispers, his voice fracturing near the end of the word. He closes his eyes for a moment, both hands dropping to support his rigid posture as his head bows, his breathing irregular and rasping. 

He seizes the book from the floor, pushing up to his feet and standing unsteadily, his body shaking with rage. His eyes burn with cold fury and his lip curls to bare his teeth as he flings the book against the wall. It strikes with a loud crash, a flurry of parchment descending to the floor. He presses shivering fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching roughly as he crosses the room, his hands finding the decanter. He fills a glass and drinks heedlessly from it as he stalks back and forth before the dark fireplace.

He glances down at the roll of papyrus on the floor of the bedroom, and his feet still. He swallows audibly, his gaze filled with longing for the possibilities contained in it, the answers to his all of his questions. He places the glass on the mantle of the fireplace, closing his eyes once more as he sucks in a long breath. The sorrow in his eyes deepens when they open again, and he crosses the room in hesitant steps, crouching before the papyrus and cradling it against him.

“Forgive me,” he whispers to the empty room, his voice hoarse, wavering around the words as he speaks them. “Please Clark, forgive me.”

Lex stands and walks from the room, his face empty as the halls around him, his footsteps hollow as they travel to his study. He slumps in his desk chair, the Book of Thoth spread before him on the desk. He opens his laptop; drumming his fingers as a list of contacts scrolls before him, the screen alive with crawling text. He turns his gaze away from the possibilities, his desolate eyes focusing on the pool table. His head bows slowly, his eyes shutting out the vision before him, the ghosts of laughter, and the memory of a grin that feeds the ravenous ache in his chest.

His hand moves up from his side, closing the laptop. He crumples the parchment, rising to his feet and carrying it back to the bedroom. He steps hesitantly to the book and crouches before it, gathering up the pages and returning them to order. He rolls the papyrus and tucks it beneath his arm, placing both hands on the open book. He murmurs softly, and the air around him trembles, pulling him with it.

~~~

It is night, moonlight tinting the desert terrain ashen blue and white. Stars fill the night sky, and he walks beneath them over the dunes of sand. The sand shifts beneath his bare feet, now merciless friction against vulnerable skin. He pushes forward step by step, his eyes lifeless as they survey the landscape, searching for the cat, and the tomb. Behind him, the tracks of his passage stretch eternally, his recent footprints tinted faintly pink in the white sand.

At last he finds the tomb, and holding himself upright against the rough stone of the tunnel walls he stumbles on, his lips dried and cracking. The passage leads him again to the first large chamber. Torches burn at the four pillars, and he descends the steps, moving carefully down the ramp. Beneath a sea of deep blue painted with gold stars, Clark sleeps in the wooden confines of the barge. He is clad in an austere kilt of pleated white linen; his closed eyes lined with black kohl and gilt paint. A broad golden collar with lapis lazuli and ruby insets encircles his neck and chest, and his arms are crossed over it, his hands curled into fists. 

Lex sucks in an exhausted breath when he sees Clark, staggering away from the wall that keeps him on his feet. He falls heavily to his hands and knees, dragging his weary limbs closer to the barge, his eyes fixed on his goal. The form of Neferkaptah materializes before him. Lex bows his head, his eyes closing, and his fingers twitching into fists, the scroll pinned between his arm and his body.

Neferkaptah’s laughter is as the sound of bones grinding to dust, echoing through the tomb. “I vowed that you would return, crawling on your hands and knees, and so you have. Place the scroll in my dead hands where you found it.”

Lex rises unsteadily, making his way past the barge and hesitating for a moment to gaze at Clark’s motionless face. He moves on into the second chamber, and returns the rolled papyrus to the grasp of Neferkaptah’s mummified corpse. He turns, glancing over his shoulder as the specter approaches him. It stills beside him, lifeless eyes regarding him without emotion.

“There is one last task you must complete, Alexander of Luthor, before you are freed of the wrath of Thoth and the punishment he has ordered you to bear.”

Through the shadowy form of Neferkaptah, Lex can see the barge, and the still form of his sleeping friend. He closes his eyes, his fingers digging into the abrasive stone of the sarcophagus. 

“What is it that you want?”

The specter folds its diaphanous arms over its chest, and Lex returns its gaze silently. “As I rest in my tomb, my wife and son still lie far away in Koptos. I wish for us to be together once more. Bring their bodies to rest with mine, that we may rejoice together for the first time in many ages and together await the Day of Awakening when Osiris returns to the world.”

Lex pushes off the sarcophagus, facing the specter. “I give my word that this will be done,” he promises quietly, his eyes slitting to punctuate his promise with an unspoken warning. 

Wind rushes around them, and the tomb fades to black. 

~~~

The sun burns overhead, beating down on groups of bronzed men working in the sand. Tents flap on gritty gusts of wind, snapping roughly beside hunched clusters of workers. A man flanked by armed bodyguards strides through the camp, his mane of hair moving restlessly in the wind. They walk beyond the worker’s tents, the sounds of digging and voices surrounding them from the sand, marked by gridlines. The bodyguards stop at the entrance of a singular tent, and Lionel Luthor pushes inside with a derisive expression on his angular face. 

“Lex, this hobby of yours has become quite an obsession.”

Lex glances up from the maps and papers strewn across the desk before him, closing a folder and setting it aside. “It’s nice to see you too, Dad.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Lionel glances around the interior of the tent and then steps to the desk, staring down at his son. “I have had enough of your frivolity, Lex. These ridiculous pursuits are a waste of your time and involve exorbitant costs.”

Lex smirks, lounging back in his chair as he looks intently up at his father. “Fortunately, those costs are not your responsibility. Neither is the use of my time.”

Lionel chuckles and circles the desk, an artfully manicured hand dropping to grasp Lex’s shoulder as he leans down, his voice soft and with undercurrents of menace. “What about this dry expanse of wilderness has so captured your attention, son?”

Lex glances up at him with a mirthless smile. “Shall I arrange for a tour of the site, or will you be seeing yourself out?”

“That won’t be necessary, Lex,” Lionel straightens and strides toward the entrance of the tent. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, his voice conversational. “I had a fascinating discussion with Martha Kent.”

“Is that so?”

As if sensing blood in the water, his father turns back and leans casually into the simple wooden frame of the tent’s doorway. “She is a charming, intelligent woman; and yet, she seems utterly convinced that you are responsible for the disappearance of young Clark.”

“I’m sure you promptly disabused her of that misguided notion,” Lex replies, dryly.

Lionel shakes his head, breathing an indulgent sigh. “You must admit it appears suspicious, Lex. Her son vanishes while purportedly playing the role of an underage Florence Nightingale at your bedside; and before the ink has dried on the police reports, you have conveniently fled to a remote corner of the globe on an abrupt safari.”

With a lazy quirk of his lips, Lex drums the fingers of his left hand idly against the surface of the desk. “Clearly, you have overlooked a potentially lucrative vocation as an author of salacious romance novels, Dad.”

“I’m certain you realize that the Kents may consider litigation, Lex. The statute of limitations has not yet expired.”

Lex arches a brow. “While I appreciate your concern, Dad; any competent attorney would advise the Kents against engaging a Luthor in a very public legal battle without evidence to support their claims.”

Another dry chuckle, and his father turns, raising the flap of the tent. “When you are finished with your childish diversions in the sand, Lex, I expect to see you back where you belong, overseeing the operations of my plant in Smallville.” 

“It’s been a pleasure, Dad. Please stop by again when you are in town.” 

The tent flap closes, and for a long moment Lex is still and quiet, listening to expensive shoes scuffing the sand as his father walks away. He takes in a deep breath finally, pulling a cellular phone from his pocket, slipping a small cap over the mouthpiece, and dialing a number. 

“Good afternoon, Sayad.” 

A pause, and he glances down at the folder, opening its cover. A photograph of Clark smiles up at him, green eyes sparkling warmly. He gently strokes his thumb over the young man’s cheek. 

“I have a problem for you to solve.” He closes the folder and turns his chair away from the desk.

“Yes, as we discussed. Call me when it is done.”

He flips the phone closed and returns it to his pocket, rising from the desk and slipping on a pair of sunglasses as he leaves his tent to inspect the progress of the workers.

~~~

A sleek white plane waits at the hanger, its bold LuthorCorp logo glistening in the sun. A fatigue-clad bodyguard is chewing gum as he leans against the wall, awaiting the return of his employer. He shades his eyes, light reflecting from a signet ring on his right hand. The smack of his lips is audible as he sighs in irritation, looking out at a slowly moving object on the road that kicks up clouds of dust in its wake. He shoulders his gun as it arrives, pushing away from the wall with an agile, predatory stroll. 

The all-terrain vehicle parks inside the hangar, its doors opening to reveal two additional bodyguards and Lionel, his hair stirring in the slight breeze. They stride to the plane, and board it, the third bodyguard following them. Inside the cabin is pleasantly cool, and the men take their seats, fastening the restraints. The plane begins to taxi from the hanger, moving to the runway. 

When the plane is aloft, the other men settle into their seats and doze as Lionel demands a glass of water and a newspaper. The third bodyguard unfastens his seatbelts and rises to fetch them, his right hand resting briefly over the top of the glass. A thin jet of colorless fluid trickles from the underside of his ring into the cup. 

Lionel reads the newspaper for several minutes, taking sips of water from the glass; and then he also slumps gently into the cushions of the seat, exhaling a light snore. The bodyguard rises again from his seat, moving to the rear of the plane and closing himself in the small restroom. He removes the ring from his hand, dropping it into the toilet and flushing it away. He replaces it with an identical ring from his pocket and flips open his cellular phone, placing a call. 

~~~

As Lex walks toward the workers’ tents, a loud clamor of excited voices sounds from the east side of the camp. He turns toward the commotion, jogging across the desert terrain until he finds the huddled group of men. When they see him, one of them leaps up from the pit, a wide grin on his face.

“Mr. Luthor, we have found something,” he says excitedly, gesturing with both hands.

Lex smiles faintly. “Show me,” he replies.

The workers clear away the dirt, revealing the flat stone face of a sealed tomb. Lex sucks in a breath, lowering his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. His piercing blue eyes stare intently at the face of the stone, and a slow grin flashes white teeth.

“Open it,” he says, tension etched in the corners of his eyes and energy writhing in the air around him. The workers press their hands to the stone, muscles stretching whipcord-tight below brown skin as they strain. Under the sun they sweat and breathe heavily, shouting instructions, grunting with exertion, and laughing as the stone moves slowly away from what it is guarding. Lex watches, his sunglasses hooked in the open collar of his shirt, his hands twitching as if being inactive is painful. 

The tomb is opened, and Lex moves into the pit, workers milling around him as fish in the sea, smiling with the excitement of their discovery. They clap hands to each others shoulders, grins flashing in the sunlight. Lex does not smile, brushing them aside as he steps into the tomb. Someone presses a flashlight into his hand, but he does not seem to see them, he merely raises it and clicks it on. The tomb is small, rough unadorned walls in a short passage that leads down to an open entrance. The chamber beyond contains two simple red sandstone sarcophagi. He brushes his fingertips over the cartouche on the left one, its hieroglyphs familiar because he has seen them before.

Neferkaptah, beloved of Amenhotep. He has found what he was searching for.

He returns to the front of the tomb, sunglasses once again covering his eyes. The workers all face him, expectant eyes and cautious smiles. He shakes his head.

“Keep looking,” he says to them, and the smiles fade as they move away from the pit, heading for the central tent or to join other teams in other pits at the site. He watches them leave, his hands folding in front of him. One worker remains, taking careful notes in a notepad as he affixes a bright yellow tag to the stone beside the tomb entrance. Lex pulls his phone from his pocket, making a call and speaking softly, crisp and precise instructions. 

He is still waiting beside the tomb when a covered truck pulls into the camp, canvas flaps stirring in the breeze. Lex has ridden with each delivery made, each discovery to be documented and studied in his government-sanctioned research facility before being handed over to the authorities. The two sarcophagi are removed carefully from the chamber and labeled with identifying tags in bright yellow before being loaded into the truck.

Lex climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, still and silent as it pulls away from the camp, rumbling over rough terrain. The sun sets slowly as the truck navigates the desert road. The driver begins to turn right at a fork in the road, but Lex shakes his head. The man eyes him curiously.

“Turn left,” Lex says softly, sliding a roll of currency from his pocket and tapping it gently against the dashboard. The man arches a brow, his hand closing over the money as he nods. He does as requested, heading in the opposite direction of the research facility. Lex watches the desert turn a dull reddish gold, fading slowly to deep purple and blue as the sun dips below the horizon.

~~~

A rough wooden sign at the side of the road identifies the sprawling site before them as another LexCorp-financed archeological dig. Yellow lights wink in rows over the silent camp, casting odd shadows on the loose white tunics of a small group of men that are huddled together, waiting. The man driving the truck is stone-faced and says nothing. The truck stills, its rumbling engine wheezing to a whined purr, and then silence. 

Lex opens the passenger door and steps down, the small group of men moving quickly toward them. He nods to them, and they begin to unload the truck, moving carefully and quietly under the night sky. The driver steps down and lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply as he crosses the headlights of the truck. He blows a stream of smoke, flicking the ashes from his cigarette as he glances at Lex.

“I’m confident you realize that you are blatantly disregarding the wishes of the Egyptian government, not to mention international laws regarding the treatment of artifacts and human remains.” He pulls again from his cigarette.

An amused look flickers in the depths of Lex’s eyes as he nods once in confirmation. The man sighs, watching the workers struggle with one of the heavy sarcophagi, lowering it carefully to rest with a thump in the sand.

“Then I don’t need to remind you how royally and utterly fucked I will be if anyone finds out,” the man continues, his expression sour.

Lex’s smile is razor-edges and moonlight. “No, Khnurn, you don’t.”

Khnurn silences, puffing at his cigarette. The workers unload the second sarcophagus, and Lex pushes his hands into his pockets, eyeing Khnurn. “The risk you have taken has been rewarded. I would not advise taking another,” he warns softly. 

Khnurn drops his cigarette, grinding it out beneath his boot as he nods, averting his eyes and swallowing audibly. He keeps his gaze from the workers as they toil in the dim light, lifting the sarcophagi between them and moving slowly toward an unmarked pit. Lex follows them. 

~~~

The tomb is familiar, passages Lex has walked before in the otherworld and in this world. The barge sits empty, flanked by its skeletal guardians. He does not linger there as he did before, choosing instead to observe the workers as they heft the stone sarcophagi between them, moving carefully into the final burial chamber. 

Lex has been in Egypt for almost nineteen months, dividing his time between six different excavation sites. He was at this site when the workers discovered this tomb, and one of the first to walk its shadowy halls. He had stood beside the barge as men moved in the darkness around him with flashlights, taking notes and cataloguing artifacts. The judicious use of money and the threat of his name had worked well to ensure that this was another small discovery that would go unnoticed by the Egyptian government. The sarcophagus remained in the second chamber as it had been in the otherworld, its contents sealed and flanked by two empty ornate chairs.

Those chairs are moved aside now as the other two sarcophagi join it, a promise kept. Lex remains there as the workers slip quietly back into the night and to their tents, their silence well compensated. Their flashlights echo against the stone walls, extinguished by the shadows. Only his remains, a white beam of light moving slowly into the empty barge and traveling it from stem to stern. It remains stubbornly vacant. 

He waits there until the pale light of dawn seeps into the valley of the dead, and then Lex leaves the tomb and goes home.

~~~

Lex strides into his study, his eyebrow rising at the woman waiting there for him. Her hands are clasped together, her knuckles white. Sunlight from the windows reflects in the fading intensity of her auburn hair, and the corners of her features are feathered with pinched lines. Soft purple lingers beneath the pale blue of her eyes, the colors almost that of fresh bruises. 

“Mrs. Kent.”

“I heard you were back,” she responds quietly, hope shining faintly in her eyes. “Did you…” Her voice falters as he shakes his head, the weariness in her face echoing in his.

“I’ll find him,” Lex states roughly, crossing to his desk and settling into his chair. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “I appreciate your faith in me, and I understand it has been difficult to sustain in the face of your husband and my father.”

She smiles faintly and then raises a brow at him. “I heard that your father got sick after his trip to see you.”

Lex’s lips curl briefly at the corners. “I’m afraid you heard correctly. It seems that my father suffered an unexpected case of amoebic dysentery. One of the unfortunate risks of travel for a man of his age. His doctors expect him to make a full recovery.”

They share a moment of silent amusement. “Get some rest, Lex,” she advises as she takes her leave of the study. 

His forced smile lasts until she is gone, and then he shakes his head, his voice quiet in the empty room. “Not until I find him.”

~~~

Lex works until the castle is cool and dark, low flickering light coming from a fire in the fireplace. Funding to various sites is re-routed, channeled to other projects. The Egypt sites will be closed within the year, their workers advised to maintain their silence. 

A report from Metropolis indicates that Lionel Luthor is uncomfortable, but not in any immediate danger. Lex smirks faintly at the precise details comprising the word uncomfortable. The King of Metropolis is embracing a porcelain toilet as often as he perches upon it, an objectionable side effect to the mixture of long-favored liquor and a regimen of metronidazole. Lionel is distracted, and Lex uses his time wisely. By the time Lionel’s nausea will fade, Lex will have finished the construction of various plausible explanations for his ventures in Egypt, just difficult enough to trace to be believable. Lex manufactures a puzzle for Lionel to unravel, mixing together a few crooked politicians, rumors of a drug binge, and a few nervous but bribable witnesses to a tumultuous relationship with a local politician’s daughter. Lex has never met her, but he understands she bears more than a passing resemblance to Lillian Luthor, and a fondness for expensive gifts. Through his contacts in the Middle East, he applies enough pressure to secure several intriguing contracts for LexCorp. In light of these developments, Clark Kent will become nothing more than a footnote in his father’s inquiry. He owes Martha Kent that much for her loyalty, and the amusement of feigning shock and sheepish acceptance at his father’s deductive abilities is considerable.

When he’d arrived home, Lex’s first concern had been the book, hidden away carefully in his safe. He’d removed it, opened the pages, and read the text. The book remained silent, and his brief sleep remained dreamless. Shadows creep over the study as he flips open a folder, examining a photograph of Clark Kent.

He rises from his chair, walking slowly around the study. His hands brush books they have read together, drifting over age-smoothed leather. He touches the soft felt of a pool table where they have waged war, spoken for hours, and touched seconds longer than absolutely necessary. He stops at the bar, and pours himself a glass of Scotch before sinking heavily into a chair and staring dully at the open door where a dark-haired young man used to stand.

The liquor is sharp, oaken and bitter against his tongue and a slow burn down his throat. If he notices, it does not stop his consumption of it, or the glassy sheen that creeps over the sharp blue of his eyes as they stare at nothing. 

The castle creaks and groans softly, mingling with the patient sound of a ticking clock, the crackle and pop of burning wood, and the liquid hiss of sips from a glass. He settles into his chair more as time passes, arms draping over the sides, the glass held loosely in his left hand. His eyes drift closed and then open again languidly. 

Outside the castle, a steady breeze begins to blow across the stones, stirring ivy and the branches of trees. A quiet tinkling sound dances through the night air, the protests of a wind chime disturbed somewhere in the gardens. A small dark shape pads on soundless feet past the open door of the study, halting to regard Lex with calm bronze eyes before moving on. 

Lex stares in shock, his eyes wide as he pushes up off the chair, the glass tumbling from his fingers to shatter against the parquet beneath his feet. He moves quickly from the study and pursues the cat. It leads him through shadowy halls, past aloof watercolor paintings and into the conservatory. 

Blue moonlight drifts in through panels of glass framed by dark iron. Lex’s steps click against the stone floor, plants around him bending and sighing in whispers. Two iron chaise lounges with plump white cushions flank a low table, and the cat is seated on the table, tail swishing as it stares up at him. Beside it, the book is resting open, its pages shifting, glowing in brilliant jade-green.

“Anheru,” Lex breathes, his voice hoarse. The cat does not respond, it simply waits in silence. 

Unsteady steps bring Lex to the table, and he leans down, placing both hands on the book. The world bends around him, blurring at the edges with a sigh of wind.

~~~

The tomb is laid out before him, its passageways lit with faint bluish-white radiance from some indefinite source, its glow a pale cousin to the moonlight in the conservatory. His footsteps are loud, rough sounds that echo as he walks, his fingers brushing against the stone of the walls around him. He steps into the chamber, and the silent emptiness of the room sucks the breath out of him, his eyes closing as he steadies himself, leaning into the wall.

“You have fulfilled your vow, Alexander of Luthor,” the voice of the specter fills the tomb, and Lex’s eyes open. Neferkaptah takes form, a soft brilliance emanating from his translucent shape and illuminating the room around him in white light. Ahura and Merab become visible beside him, their faces content and peaceful. 

“You have returned to me those that I loved in life, and hold dearly in death,” Neferkaptah intones, and through the milky fog of his body the barge shivers, the sleeping form of a dark-haired young man appearing in its confines. “Your debt is absolved.” 

Neferkaptah’s indistinct face turns toward that of his wife and son. The specter’s hand drops to take the hand of the woman beside him, and they turn smiling faces to Lex, the boy’s ghost standing between them as all three fade from view, the light cast by their forms dissipating slowly. 

“Clark,” Lex whispers to the tomb and its soft white afterglow of ghosts, his voice choked as he steps slowly to the barge, as if afraid he will break the spell by moving too quickly. Clark’s kohl-rimmed eyes twitch and open, blinking sleepily as he glances up.

“Lex,” he responds, his eyes gentle beneath the hard lines of sooty black and gold. 

Lex’s hands rest on the side of the barge, fingers digging into the archaic wood as he stares down at Clark, one hand rising slowly and brushing cautiously against his cheek, as if to reassure himself that he is not imagining this. 

Staring up at him, a tiny smile curls the edges of Clark’s mouth. “I knew that when I opened my eyes, it would be you standing here.” He turns into the hand touching his cheek, brushing a subtle kiss over Lex’s palm. His eyes are somber, soft green and earnest. “Thank you.”

Lex’s throat constricts visibly. He says nothing, moving his hand away from Clark’s touch and stepping away from the barge. Clark pushes up, climbing awkwardly out and settling his feet cautiously on the stone floor of the tomb.

“Lex?”

A soft sound answers, vague and quiet, as Lex shifts his stance and glances around the tomb, his eyes flitting quickly around the chamber. Clark rubs his hands over his arms, tilting his head to the side.

“Alexander led his armies to the end of the known world, and when he accomplished that, he returned to Babylon.” Lex’s voice is muted and conversational in the tomb. “He fulfilled dreams that had seemed impossible to all but him. Believing in himself and in his destiny, he led his men to victory against the greatest military force of his time, the Persian Empire.”

Clark stands quietly, listening. 

“In Babylon, Alexander became ill unexpectedly, as he was making preparations for more conquests. Plans were still underway, new expeditions and armies to conquer. But Alexander was unwilling to fight the fever.” Lex touches his fingertips to the wall, brushing them over the jackal-face of Anubis. 

“He conquered the known world and defeated the greatest military minds of his time.” He glances over his shoulder at Clark. “But he could not conquer himself, and the betrayal of his own emotions defeated him, his ambitions, and his dreams.”

Lex steps away from Anubis, pushing his hands into his pockets and facing Clark, his eyes haunted in the dim light. “What he’d lost when Hephaestion died was the will to power.”

Clark’s mouth opens and then closes, his hands twitching slightly as they drop to his sides. “I…”

Shaking his head slowly, Lex studies him, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching the corners of his eyes. “Your mother is waiting for me to bring you home.”

“Lex…”

“I’m looking forward to the expression on her face when she sees your interesting attire.” The smile becomes a smirk, crooked and amused. 

Clark steps forward and hesitates, caution overriding determination as he reaches Lex. “Lex, stop.”

“Clark,” Lex’s voice is a warning. “Go home, to your parents and your secrets.”

“Stop.” Clark’s jaw is stubborn, his eyes flashing angrily. “You are here, and that’s more important to me than Alexander the Great or secrets or-.”

“More important than secrets,” Lex interrupts softly, his eyes narrowing. 

Clark sighs, the sound frustrated. “Lex…” He shifts closer, his expression twisting in exasperation. “I can’t tell you what you want to know. It… would change too many things that I don’t want to change. Do you understand that?”

“No, Clark. I don’t.”

Clark rakes a hand through his hair. “I… could just tell you. Sometimes I want to. But everything will be different. I.. wouldn’t be just Clark to you anymore. I would… it would be something else. Something I don’t want. Telling you wouldn’t be about trusting you. It would be just… god…”

He steps away, his gaze shifting to the wall and a relief of Osiris. “You already understand me; act like I’m somebody that matters. Without that, and if I tell you then I would be giving that up. I can’t do that.” Clark’s shoulders slump, and he reaches out a shaky hand, his fingertips touching the hem of Osiris’ robes before he looks back at Lex, his eyes pleading. 

“Just please stop asking. Stop looking at me like I’m different and strange, and I’ll stop telling you that I’m not.”

“You are, Clark.” The statement is delivered quietly.

There is a pause for a long moment, and then Clark nods once, shifting his gaze downward. “Yeah, I am. Can that be enough?”

Lex takes a deep breath, and looks away. “It will have to be.” His voice is resigned, threaded with a quiet sadness.

Clark’s response is drowned out in a rush of wind through the tomb, the white light criss-crossing at right angles around them as the world bends itself to let them back in. 

~~~

The conservatory is dark and quiet, stars winking faintly through the glass panes. Lex pushes up to sit, blinking a few times and rubbing a hand slowly over his face. The low hum of crickets chirping resonates over the gardens and mingles with the musical notes of a wind chime and branches stirring restlessly outside the windows. 

“I am not going to miss that,” Lex says softly, with a faint smirk. 

Clark chuckles from somewhere beside him and rolls over to sprawl on his back, pillowing his head against his arm. “I haven’t seen this room before,” he responds with quiet reverence. “It’s nice.”

Nodding his agreement, Lex wraps his arms around his knees. “It was not a part of the original castle. I had it built a few months after Dad exiled me here. He despises it.” He pauses, looking around. 

“Mom would have liked it,” he adds quietly.

Clark shifts, rolling to his side and propping his head on his hand. “You don’t talk about her very often,” he glances down, running his fingers absently over the stone tiles beside him. “But when you do, it makes me wish I could have met her.”

Lex shrugs slightly, tilting his head back to look up through the windows at the night sky for a moment before returning his gaze to Clark. “I should take you home.”

Stretching out his arm, Clark rises to sit beside him, and ducks his face, peering at Lex from the corners of his eyes. Lex looks back at him, and Clark leans closer, brushing his lips gently over Lex’s mouth, his fingers curling gently over his jaw.

A soft breath and Lex tilts his head, his tongue slipping out to taste Clark’s lips. He leans into the kiss, his hand roaming slowly over Clark’s chest, angling down gradually to the waistband of the kilt. Clark whimpers into his mouth, his hips rising slightly as Lex’s hand tugs the fabric of the kilt up and moves beneath it, wrapping around Clark’s cock and squeezing gently. A slow flush spreads over Clark’s face, down over his throat and chest. He shivers and breaks the kiss, biting into his lip as Lex strokes him, his eyes lidded as he watches Clark’s face. Lex kisses along the side of his throat and then pulls back and watches him as Clark’s hips roll up into his touch, their breathing quick and heavy. Lex kisses him again, quick and sloppy, and Clark’s cries are buried in the kiss as he arches up roughly, his cock pulsing in Lex’s hand. He presses his forehead into Lex’s throat and pants, shivering.

Lex brings his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers slowly, his arm sliding around Clark, his fingers tangling into Clark’s hair and combing through it softly. Clark whimpers and takes a deep breath, kissing lightly at the side of Lex’s neck. Lex murmurs, not words as much as comforting sounds. He pulls away and stands, offering his hands to Clark, who smiles faintly and takes them, standing up beside him. They do not speak, their eyes communicating more than their words ever could. Lex turns and pulls Clark with him, walking through the halls of the manor. Clark follows him, pausing ever so often to push Lex carefully against a wall and lean into him, kissing him. 

They climb the stairs, Lex smirking lightly as Clark tugs him into a shadowy corner and kisses him again, pressing him against the wall and grinding his hips slowly against him, his hands braced on the wall beside Lex’s shoulders. Sucking in a sharp breath, Lex squirms and laughs a gasp. Clark kisses him again, whispering something quiet and meaningless as he moves against him, Lex’s arms wrapping tightly around him and holding on. They find a rhythm and move into it, Lex’s grunts and quick intakes of breath muffled against Clark’s throat as he comes, his face flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

They remain still for a long moment, Clark kissing along the angle of Lex’s jaw, his tongue darting teasing touches to Lex’s ear. He steps away and Lex chuckles self-deprecatingly and runs a hand quickly over his scalp, leading Clark along the hall and into the bedroom where Clark’s boots still rest beside the bed. 

Locked together in a kiss, they fumble back and sprawl on the bed, Clark’s laughter soft in the quiet room. Lex pushes back off the bed, balancing carefully as he toes off his shoes, Clark reclining on his back and watching, licking his lips slowly.

Lex smirks at him and unbuttons the top button of his shirt and his cuffs. “You want a show?” 

With a dazzling grin, Clark nods and ducks his face, looking up at Lex from under his lashes. “Yeah.”

Lex shrugs, the movement building into a flexing roll of his shoulders and a contented sigh. He eyes Clark and loosens a few more buttons, pausing between to watch him. Clark swallows and grins sheepishly up at him; pushing up on his elbows and rocking his hips slowly up and then back down, the linen fabric of his kilt bunching slightly around his hips. 

Lex closes his eyes and sheds his shirt, the fabric falling to the floor with a faint sound. “It won’t be much of a performance if you do that again,” he confesses, his voice husky. Clark bites his lips to suppress a grin, stilling his body. Lex unfastens his belt, a whip-slick sound of leather sliding through his pants followed by a clunk as his belt falls to the floor. He unbuttons and unzips his pants, giving Clark a devilish look as they slide down over his hips and pool around his feet. He steps out of them, lowering to crawl across the bed and over Clark’s body, kissing him as he settles down against him. Clark nips at his lips, kissing down Lex’s chin to his throat. Lex moves to rest on his side as Clark arches up and tugs the kilt off, tossing it over the side of the bed. 

Brushing his fingers slowly over Clark’s side, Lex moves him with touches and words until Clark is laying on his side, his back pressed against Lex and his leg draped over Lex’s hip. Clark angles his face back and Lex props himself up on his elbow, kissing briefly along Clark’s upper arm and shoulder. Lex runs his hand slowly up and down Clark’s ribs, biting gently at the top of Clark’s arm and swirling his tongue in slow circles. Clark shudders and breathes a soft whine, Lex’s fingertips ghosting slowly over Clark’s hip and upper thigh. 

Clark squirms closer, nuzzling the underside of Lex’s jaw. “Lex?”

“Hmm?” Lex pauses and looks at him, his eyes a question.

“I… um,” Clark blushes, prompting Lex to smirk fondly at him. “I want you to, um… “ Clark trails off and gives him a desperate, pointed look. Lex swallows and nods, kissing him softly.

“The table beside the bed. There might be something in there we could use.”

Clark scoots away, rummaging in the drawer of the table. He blinks and sets a pair of handcuffs and a riding crop on the table, arching a brow at Lex. Lex puts a hand over his face and shakes his head. “Not what I had in mind, Clark,” he replies with a lopsided smirk. Clark snickers and leaves them there, holding up a narrow tube of lubricant and a small box of unopened condoms. 

Lex parts his fingers and glances from between them at him, then lowers his hand, his voice uneven and low. “Yeah, that will work.” Clark brings them back with him, leaning down and kissing Lex.

“You’ll explain the other stuff though,” he teases, and Lex smirks up at him.

“Maybe.” 

He takes the box from Clark and opens it, dropping the condoms on the bed between them and glancing up at Clark. “This, all of this… changes everything.”

Clark nods, his teasing expression becoming serious. “Yeah. I want it to change.”

“Come here,” Lex growls softly, pulling Clark against him, their bodies moving and bumping gently until Clark is resting on his side again, with Lex pressed behind him, propped up on his elbow. Clark shifts, his leg resting over Lex’s side. Lex tilts Clark’s face up toward him and kisses him thoroughly, the tips of his fingers playing gently in Clark’s hair. He reaches down, the sound of tearing plastic between their bodies, and the soft gliding whisper of a condom slipping onto his cock. He kisses Clark again, softer this time.

“Breathe,” he says softly, and Clark takes in a deep breath, his eyes squeezing closed for a second as Lex coats his fingers with lube and rubs them together for a moment. At Clark’s curious glance, he whispers, “It’s cold.”

Clark nods and swallows softly. Lex rubs his fingers gently over the curve of Clark’s ass, slipping down and pushing a finger carefully into him. Clark breathes a low sound and shivers, moving his hips back against Lex’s hand. Lex nips at Clark’s ear, kissing down his throat. Clark whimpers as Lex eases another finger into him, speeding the pace of his movements. Clark reaches back and cups a hand over Lex’s hip, pulling him closer. Lex bites down a groan and withdraws his fingers carefully, lining himself up and rocking his hips in a quick motion. Clark’s startled cry is drowned in another kiss, and his hand tightens against Lex’s hip as Lex pushes gently into him, his breathing faster. 

Lex shifts closer, angling his hips slightly. Clark whimpers a moan and tightens his other hand into a fist in the sheets, panting softly. Their legs twist together in the sheets, and Lex’s body moves against Clark, steady and slow. Clark’s fingers twitch against Lex’s hip with every thrust, the muscles in his arm flexing and knotting beneath his skin, his breath noisy between kisses and soft whimpers. Lex’s hand glides up and down over Clark’s hip, and then slides lower to wrap around his cock and squeeze gently, his thrusts pushing Clark’s body back and forth between Lex’s cock and his hand. He slips his other arm beneath Clark’s neck and cups the back of his head, his fingers catching in Clark’s hair. 

Their kisses are sloppy and wet, slick with need and urgent, panted sounds. Clark shudders and writhes against him, his body tensing. Lex slows his pace, biting gently at Clark’s throat and the top of his shoulder, murmuring quiet encouragement in a strained, broken voice. Clark leans up and kisses him frantically, his foot tangling in the sheets and popping a corner of the fitted sheet from the bed as he arches suddenly into Lex and grits his teeth, his breath hissing out in quick gasps. Lex buries his face in Clark’s throat and his body moves faster, harder. Clark shudders and yelps a long, unbroken mewling cry, coming in slow pulses over Lex’s hand and his own stomach. Lex groans and his hips slam once, twice against Clark’s body and then move in a jagged circling rhythm, his body shaking as he slumps against Clark, his arms wrapping tightly around him. 

Gradually, their breathing slows, and Lex withdraws carefully, wincing slightly as he slips off the bed and disposes of the condom. He leaves the room for a moment, returning with a damp towel and climbing back into the rumpled bed. Clark takes the towel and kisses him softly, his face all shining eyes and a wide, dopey grin that Lex snickers at. Clark rubs the towel over himself quickly, dropping it off the side of the bed. He settles into the pillows, facing Lex. 

“This changes everything,” he promises quietly, and Lex nods his agreement, his eyelids drooping slightly as he bunches the pillows underneath his head. Clark shifts closer and kisses him softly, draping an arm over Lex’s shoulders.

Lex closes his eyes, smiling faintly as he drifts into sleep. He dreams of Anheru walking slowly through the castle, finding the book and taking it with him as he vanishes into the gardens. In the dream, Lex watches quietly and lets him. 

Clark watches Lex sleep, the lazy glow of his features fading slowly into worry. He eases away from Lex and stands up, hunting quietly through the dresser until he finds a pair of loose, dark blue pants in soft cotton. He pulls them on and stands at the foot of the bed, the kohl smeared in soft gray smudges around his eyes, his hair damp with sweat and pushed into a tangled riot of curls. Lex mutters something in his sleep, his hand twitching slightly where it rests against his stomach. Clark bites his lip, tugging gently at the rumpled sheet and pulling it up to Lex’s shoulders. He steps away, opening the balcony doors and slipping outside.

~~~

When Lex wakes, the bed is cool around him, moonlight spreading in blue bands over the rumpled sheets. He rises to prop himself on his elbows, and through the glass panels of his balcony door he can see Clark, leaning against the stone balustrade at the balcony’s edge and staring up the stars. Dark pajama pants clothe him from the waist down, the soft fabric shifting subtly in the wind, his upper body bare to the night. Lex slips from bed and pulls on a robe, opening the door with a soft click and stepping out onto the balcony. 

“Clark?”

“Hey,” Clark glances over his shoulder with a hesitant smile, his eyes pensive. 

Lex joins him at the ledge, looking out over the gardens and the frozen lake. “Why are you out here?”

“Just thinking,” Clark answers, looking back up at the sky. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He leans closer to Lex, pointing up at the stars, and Lex gazes up, taking in the night sky. Clark’s voice is strange, soft and tense. “I… I want to show you something. See that star over there? The faint one at the left edge of Orion’s Belt.” 

Lex darts a curious glance at Clark before looking back up. “Yes, I do.”

Clark is quiet for a moment, a tousled curl drifting gently in the breeze and falling over his forehead. When he speaks again, he sounds as if he is telling a story, wistful and contemplative. “Sometimes at night, in the loft, I look at the sky with my telescope, and I find myself looking at that star. It appeals to me more than the other ones do, I’m not really sure why. I like to think that is where I came from.”

Lex sucks in a breath and stares at him, his mouth slack. “Clark,” he responds, his voice strained, “what are you doing?”

Clark stares back at him, his eyes anxious and hopeful. “Changing my mind,” he answers. He looks back up at the sky, taking a deep breath. “I realized something, standing out here. Most of the people I know see you as Lex Luthor, but they don’t get past Luthor. You’ve never hidden that from anybody, you gave them the chance to decide if it mattered or not. I haven’t said this before, but I… I’ve always admired that you were strong enough to do that.”

Taking in another deep breath, Clark returns his gaze at Lex, his expression unguarded and terrified. “I… this is… this is the chance to decide if… if me being an alien matters to you.” 

Lex is silent, his eyes blinking slowly for a moment. He reaches over, lifting Clark’s hand from the stone ledge and staring at it as if this is the first time he has really seen it, turning it over slowly and putting his own palm against Clark’s. He examines their hands together, pale and golden skin tones, slender fingers against broader ones. He sets Clark’s hand back down on the stone, reaching out and brushing his fingertips slowly over the contours of Clark’s eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, and the curved lines of his mouth. Clark watches him, breathing in tiny, shallow puffs of air. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Lex responds quietly. He smiles faintly and glances up at the sky again and then back at Clark. When he speaks again, his voice is stronger, threaded with wry amusement.

“I’ll be Lex, without the Luthor, and you’ll be Clark, without the alien. We can save Luthor and Alien for special occasions.”

Clark snickers, his expression surprised at the sound, its resulting grin lingering across his face. “Okay. I can do that.”

He is still grinning when Lex leans over and kisses him, gentle and quiet under the stars. He turns, his back resting against the balustrade, and leans back a little, staring up at the sky. “Lex?”

“Yeah?”

Clark reaches over and tugs Lex towards him, his smile soft and a little crooked. “Hang on to me,” he whispers. 

Arching a brow, Lex wraps his arms around Clark’s waist. Clark’s smile gets a little wider, and he hugs Lex closer to him. “Close your eyes?”

“Why?” Lex asks, his voice a little wary. Clark shrugs lightly and ducks his head, his cheeks tinting a faint pink hue. Giving him a vaguely exasperated look, Lex complies, his eyes closing. Clark takes a deep breath and closes his as well, an expression of concentration crossing over his features. 

Gradually their bodies rise up off the balcony, hovering a few feet over the stone. Clark opens his eyes, daring a glance around before grinning, his eyes twinkling proudly and his voice soft and awed. “I… it worked. Lex? Open your eyes.”

Lex blinks, studying Clark’s face curiously for a moment. “What worked?”

Tightening his arms around Lex, Clark kisses him gently. “Look down.”

“Oh, shit.” Lex responds, his eyes wide. “You can fly?”

“Float,” Clark corrects, grinning. 

“Levitate,” Lex smirks. 

Clark snickers and kisses him again. “Whatever.” 

Slowly, they lower back to the stone floor of the balcony. Lex tilts his head at Clark and smiles faintly. “I’m going back to bed.” He walks back toward the door, and pauses, glancing back at Clark as if waiting for him. Clark yawns softly, covering his mouth idly with his hand, and follows him. 

~~~

Dawn finds the Kent farm peaceful and rising slowly from slumber, its edges softened by the pale gold of early morning sunlight. A silvery sports car grinds to a halt on the gravel of the yard, its engine ticking quietly after it purrs to a halt. The driver’s side door opens and Lex emerges, leaning against the car, his eyes concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.

Lex remains beside the car as Clark climbs out of it, squinting slightly as he glances around the farm with a quiet smile on his face. His body is clothed in a dark red button-down shirt and indigo jeans, crisp lines of new clothing that stops at the worn and familiar leather of his boots. The rich scent of sun bleached hay and manure sweeps in from the fields, accompanied by the muffled voices of cattle. 

Martha pushes open the screen door, her hair gathered into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her eyes search the yard, expectant and wide. After a moment her jaw slacks and she brings a hand to rest over her mouth. Her steps freeze in place as the door swings closed behind her with a squeak of old hinges. Her eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and Clark turns around to face toward her, a grin breaking across his face. 

“Clark!” Martha’s voice breaks as she races down the steps, enveloping her son in a fierce hug and burying her face in his shirt. Clark wraps her tightly in a hug and clings to her, tucking his face into the fading strands of her hair. Her shoulders shake gently, and her eyes are damp when she pulls back and stares up at him. 

The door swings open again, Jonathan stepping onto the porch quickly and gaping at them, his eyes wide and shocked. 

“Dad,” Clark’s voice is strained, and Martha steps away, wiping a hand across her eyes, her smile as bright as the sun. Jonathan steps down slowly to the ground, crossing the yard as if sleepwalking and blinking at Clark. 

Then suddenly, as if the reality of what he is seeing has hit him with the force of an explosion, Jonathan crushes Clark in a tight hug, laughing with relief and choking on his own voice. “You’re here.” 

Clark exhales a jolt of surprised air and laughs, the sound drifting into the warming air around them. 

Martha glances over at Lex, and he smiles a little at her. “I should be going,” he says softly. 

She steps closer, circling around the car. Lex turns to face her, and she reaches over to grasp one of his leather-clad hands in her own. “Lex… you brought my son back to me. I would be honored if you would stay and have breakfast in my home, today and any other day you wish.”

Lex glances down for a moment, and then back up at her, his throat flexing visibly as he swallows. 

“I’d like that,” he answers, and then he blinks in surprise as she embraces him, his body unyielding for a minute before he closes his eyes and hugs her back. She steps away, pulling him with her. Lex follows hesitantly, his face composed and emotionless as he glances at Jonathan Kent. Martha releases Lex’s hand and pauses beside them, watching. 

Jonathan extends his hand, and Lex strips off his glove and takes it, shaking it steadily.

“Lex,” he says, his voice firm and humbled. “Thank you, for everything that you have done for me, and for my family.” He rests his hand against the small of Martha’s back, pulling her gently toward him. “My wife is an excellent cook, and an even better judge of character.”

He fixes Lex with a wry glance. “A better judge than I am,” he adds with a self-deprecating smile. “And if she says you are welcome in our home, I would be a fool to disagree with her.”

Martha kisses Jonathan’s cheek and pats his face gently with a fond smile, and they turn, climbing the porch steps and stepping inside. Clark trails after them, pausing at the top of the steps and looking back over his shoulder at Lex. 

“Come on,” he says, nodding his head toward the house.

Lex moves up to the porch after him, and taking a deep breath, opens the door and steps inside.


End file.
